


Momentum

by Kaile (rcs)



Category: Ragnarok Online
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rcs/pseuds/Kaile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>all we need is a little bit of inertia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Momentum

It's late-- much later than Achishar had expected-- when the reception dwindled down to a very few and then drifted apart entirely, Balthasar inexplicably misty-eyed and Miru with well-wishes and a few exceptionally embarrassing instructions, Halloween bemoaning the loss of a wingman and Asellus with a hug and Cessair grinning at the two of them in what has to be the most amused she's ever looked. He turns to his bride-- his _wife_ , and ain't that enough to stop his breath for a moment, remembering her as she glowed through the veil, and the look in her eyes as he lifted it from her face and kissed her for the first time as her husband--, and she looks... adorable, he guesses is the best word for it. Her cheeks are flushed with too much sparkling wine, those dove-gray eyes striking against the pink of her skin, and he has to stifle the uncharacteristic urge-- something he'll chalk up to the wine and the headiness of marriage if asked about it later-- to kiss her again, her lips and cheeks and eyelids. To hold her tight, remind himself that this is not just _Kanan_ and not just his _girl_ , but the woman who's linked her future with his.

It's both sobering and giddy in his mind, bubbling like wine in his thoughts as he leads her and that unwieldy, gauzy pile of petticoats and fluff that is her dress from the reception hall, to the Kafra girl who's been waiting to send them on their way to Jawaii, for the beginning of their new life and their time alone to learn about one another-- yes, he flusters, even as Miru advises; his cheeks burn when he thinks of Kanan like _that_. But not tonight, he thinks, looking at Kanan again. She looks tired-- she's been working with the others, planning and trying everything; he remembers her coming back from dress fittings looking like she was going to collapse and heading straight to the chores the guild required of her; no complaints, just staunch determination. More than once, he'd found her asleep at a table in the common room, lists and lists in front of her, and tucked his jacket around her, daring to kiss the pale, vulnerable nape of her neck as she slept. And he always walked back to his own quarters looking as if he'd been up to something, holding that quiet joy in his hands and close to his chest.

It was only upon seeing her, walking down the aisle with her arm tucked in Balthasar's, all pink and cream and errant freckles and nothing but nervous adoration in her eyes that he realized that she'd been carrying that joy too, that hand even closer to her heart. She'd looked at him, and in that moment the enormity of it all-- that this was his life, and that she'd be sharing it with him-- had hit, and he'd felt the leap of his heart into his throat as everything else faded. He'd remembered his vows, spoken strongly enough-- Miru had looked approving, anyway--, and her own vows had been beyond sure, had been filled with the strength he'd come to admire in her. She'd been so sure of him-- she _was_ so sure of him. Of them.

It was humbling. She was humbling. Also stumbling; as the freefall of transport ended, he scooped her wobbling form up, feeling her curl against him and wondering if he'd ever be worthy of that implicit trust, of that incredible willingness to lean against him and believe that he'd handle it. He could barely believe she was his wife; how could he handle the duties of a husband? Aside from getting them both into the honeymoon suite, that was, and setting her onto the bed. He suspected that this time was supposed to be for something else entirely from sleeping, but getting her out of that gown-- did women honestly need so many garments?-- was more than enough work for the both of them. As soon as she was down to her undergown-- he wasn't going to strip her any further, that was just _embarrassing_ \--, he tucked her into the bed before getting the last few things put away and blowing out the candles to strip down to bedclothes, a pair of loose trousers and white undershirt, and sliding in beside her in the dark, catching his breath at the warmth of her, even here. He tried to stay respectful, but when she kept _squirming closer_ , eventually half-sprawling across his side... well, he couldn't push her away, and obviously it was a losing battle to keep his distance. So he slid his arms around her and started as she sighed, contented. So this was being a husband? Or at least one of the parts of it?

Maybe he could do this, after all. As long as they took it slow.


End file.
